


In the grip of Death

by RogueLioness



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Dark, F/M, Freeform, Implied Non-Con, Implied Sexual Content, One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-26
Updated: 2016-04-26
Packaged: 2018-06-04 16:34:26
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,098
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6666106
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RogueLioness/pseuds/RogueLioness
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>If Falon'Din discovered Lavellan's existence, and Solas was the trapped one.</p>
<p>This is just a random idea that came to me, and this is sort of the 'bare bones' of it. I'll update later if/when I get the inspiration for it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In the grip of Death

Never let it be said that she gave in meekly.

That just wasn’t her way, after all.

She was dragged in, kicking and screaming, hissing obscenities at the guards who hauled her along the marble floor of the grand hall. It was a pity they’d poisoned her, she thought. She would have gladly drawn fire along her skin to burn the hands of her captors.

Because there was no way - no possible way - she would go gently towards the man who stood at the end of the hall.

She’d never given in to death the myriad number of times it had tried to claimed her, and she’d be damned if she gave in to the God of Death.

He watched her progress, his face inscrutable, his eyes harboring a wicked sort of pleasure at her rage, her spirited efforts to reclaim her freedom. “It is rather rude of you to reject my hospitality, sweet thing,” he spoke, a thread of humor in his tone.

She stiffened. “I don’t think there are many who would particularly welcome the hospitality of the God of Death,” she replied bitingly.

“I suppose not,” he agreed. “Especially one with as much life as you,” he mused.

She now stood in front of him, her magic stolen away, held upright by the guards. She met his gaze defiantly, refusing to cower. He took the five steps necessary to stand in front of her, and she felt fear slowly trickle in to replace her fury. His hand on her cheek was deceptively simple, but the magic that bound her was not. When she was gripped entirely by the spell he’d woven on her, he nodded his head to dismiss his guards. 

She willed herself to move, tried to fight the poison that coursed through her veins, wanting something, anything to stop this feeling of helplessness. All the while he circled her, observing her actions - or lack thereof - with amusement.

“Valiant effort indeed, little bird,” he said with a chuckle. “I have not been so amused in a long, long time.” He stood in front of her again, tracing a finger up her slender neck. “So fragile,” he mused, “so tender.” He rubbed his thumb against her lower lip, and she snarled at him. He quirked a brow, and pinched her lip so hard that when he let go it was red and swollen. He stared at his handiwork in fascination, leaning in to nip the sensitive part between his teeth.

His teeth were sharp, and she hissed in response.

He smiled at her.

“There is someone I would like to introduce you to,” he said, a glint in his eye. “Perhaps it will… improve… your mood.” Gripping her upper arm painfully, he dragged her to the chambers hidden deep below the ground. The air was cold, but that was not why her skin broke out in goosebumps.

It was the scent of death and desolation that permeated the air that caused her to fear.

Soon they reached an eluvian, and he carelessly waved his hand in front of it. The mirrored surface rippled, and he pushed her through it.

She found herself in a plain room, simply furnished. The only thing remarkable about it was the occupant.

She found _him_ pacing up and down, could see his wolf sliding towards madness over being caged. Her breath caught in her throat, and she reached out for him… 

“Fen’harel,” the God of Death sounded almost melodious, “there is a guest to see you.”

The Wolf turned around, his face sinking into despair as he laid his eyes on Lavellan. “Let her go,” he said quietly. “The feud is between us, cousin.”

“Why would I let her go?” Falon’din smirked. “Do you know how much _life_ she has in her?”

She stood mutely, staring in horror at her heart. Her bruised, battered, sorrowful heart. “You have no right to do this,” she spat out when she found her voice.

“Did you hear that, cousin? She fights for you.” He dipped his head to her ear. “To the victor go the spoils, little bird,” he said before dragging his tongue up the curve of her ear. She trembled in fear.

“So exquisite,” he grinned maliciously. “You chose well, cousin.”

Fen’harel lunged at him, but was sent crashing against the wall with a flick of the God of Death’s fingers. She struggled against him, breaking free in the process, only to find that her legs would not let her go to her heart. 

“Why did you bring her here?” the Wolf growled, feeling himself break at the open fear on Lavellan’s face.

“Why, I thought you would miss her,” Falon’din said innocently.

“Then leave us be, and leave us alone!” she cried out, her eyes never leaving the Wolf.

“No, little bird,” he chastised her, gripping her jaw cruelly tight and pulling her face towards his, “I have caught you, and I will clip your wings.” He gave her that smile again. “Everything that belongs to the Dread Wolf is mine now, little bird,” he continued, his hand sliding down to her throat, his thumb pressing into her windpipe so hard she started choking, “including you.”

Fen’harel could only look on, enraged and helpless, as tears slid down Lavellan’s face. Falon’din tut-tutted. “Your lover can give you nothing, little bird,” he said mockingly, “but I can give you everything.” He released her throat, admiring the dark purple bruise that began to bloom where his finger had been. “Beautiful,” he murmured, gripping her hair and pulling her head back so sharply she gave a yelp of pain. “I shall feast on you well,” he proclaimed darkly, clamping his teeth around her throat, threatening to tear it out. 

Her choked cry seemed to satisfy him, and he pulled away, his sharp canines drawing blood. “Is there something you would like to say to your lover, old wolf?” he mocked.

The Dread Wolf hung his head in shame. “ _Ir abelas_ ,” he said softly, his words directed towards his heart. He raised his head to see her being dragged away by the God of Death. His chest constricting in pain, in terror, in helpless anger.

“You should have listened to me,” she said, her eyes filled with resignation, and he died a little more inside. The last thing he heard her say was, “Why didn’t you listen to me, Dread Wolf?” before she was pulled through the eluvian, and he was alone once more in his prison.

_I should have listened to you, vhenan._

_But now it is too late._

He howled in agony.


End file.
